


The Guardian of Farenborne

by Caprikat



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Dragons, Elves, Fantasy, Gay, Intersex, M/M, Mpreg, Other, Therewillbesex, carrier, enemiestolovers, fairytale, idkhowmanychapters, slowburn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-06-24 09:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15627414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprikat/pseuds/Caprikat
Summary: Faylin feels like he doesn't belong. He's insecure, and anxious about the huge role he is about to assume; the role of a guardian.  Over the centuries,  gaurdians were the protectors of the elves, ensuring everything remained in peace in the world. But with a reluctant dragon as his partner, and doubts filling his heart about his Kingdom's morals, how will Faylin find a cure to the planet's maladies?Read to find out.





	1. The Prophecy

The young elf checked himself hastily, his hands roaming the sides of his white ceremonial gown.  
It was the moment he had been waiting for since he was only but a mere child. Today was the day, the day that he would meet the king of elves, and the prophecy would be foretold.

A rush of trepidation had permeated throughout his body. The youth was not so sure if he was ready to take on such a large task. But nevertheless, it did not matter if he was ready or not. He had no voice in this.

He combed his pallid blond hair back, neatly pushing the long strands behind his pointed ears. Then the boy turned around, his eyes landing on the black jewelry box sitting on top of his night stand. Gingerly, the young elf opened the intricate box, his eyes widening in awe at the silver diamond studs, embellished with droplets of gold. They were beautiful, too beautiful to be presented to him. He had almost felt unworthy of being bestowed such a gift. 

The earrings were his last loving memory of his late mother before she perished. His mera, as he called her, was a very valuable healer in the kingdom, and had died tragically from an unknown disease. 

Mera, I miss you, mera. I miss you, he chanted in this thoughts, wishing she could be here to see him on such an important day. It was difficult for him to stifle his tears as they steadily ran down his face. But, he had assured himself that his mother would not want him to cry.

Wiping away his tears, he carefully removed the earrings from their seals, placing them into each lobe of his ears. He smiled, admiring himself in the mirror. The earrings had somehow complemented his pale, impish face. He could not help think that the they must have carried some magical abilities. Wearing them made him look a lot more pleasing, more regale, as if he was now a part of something of a greater importance. 

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Faylin?" his father called out, "Are you ready?"

Faylin stared at the entrance, taking in a deep breath. 

"Yes, abbas, I am ready," he replied, opening the door.

His father smiled, placing a hand on his cheek. "Oh, how much you look like your mera," he commented, his eyes swelling with joy. "You were meant for great things, my puer. I am sure of it and so was your mera. When you were born, we knew you were a rarity."

"Thank you, abbas." The boy was anxious, but the the older man reassured him by rubbing his child on the shoulder, leading him towards the king's court.

"Now, my puer, do not be nervous," he whispered as they walked towards the main entrance. His father had previously been a part of the High Elven Council, so far all his life, all he had ever known the royal palace. But regardless of this, he had never set foot anywhere near the main entrance. He had always made sure to be near, or in the garden with the other council children.

"We are here." The doors of the king's court were large, oak doors, decorated with years of history. The Battle of Sarkin, one of the most notorious wars of them all, was plastered in both doors in Zarkanian ink. It told the story of Sarkin's princess, Alayla, the first guardian. She used her powers to save humanity from the dark forces. 

It was a great win for Sarkin, if told by any elf. But to Faylin, he was unconvinced. The story only seemed to be used to increase patriotism within the kingdom during times of division. For example, when Farenborne and Sarkin were at war over unclaimed territory, both kingdoms had reminded one another of the Battle of Sarkin, the battle that their people, the elves, had won together, despite their differences. 

The elf did not have time to peruse the other legends as the wooden doors had opened, startling him.

"Enter," the guards commanded in unison, Faylin went to step in, but his father was held into place by one of the guards. "Not you, only him."

"My puer, this as far as I can go."

"But abbas–I cannot do this alone. You had promised me—" 

"It is alright," his father said, "you can do this." And with that, the entrance's doors had closed. Fear had taken a hold of Faylin, so much so that he was eager to try anything to postpone his meeting with the king. He stayed in his spot, his eyes overwhelmed with luxuries of the room. Royal paintings were plastered on the ruby walls, jewels and other expensive antiquities decorating it. 

"Why, my puer. Do not be scared." The elven king gave out a boisterous laugh, and his son, Prince Pharom, sat next to him, amused by the boy's meekness.

"I am not scared my lord, just merely revering your lovely room." Somehow, Faylin's comment only made the old man laugh harder, his ragged white beard swaying side to side.

"Come now," the old man spoke, gesturing for the boy to come closer. Faylin did as he was told, walking towards the king and the prince, he then promptly bowed in veneration, his  knees  on the floor, and his arms placed in front of him as he made eye contact with the royals.

"You are the guardian, little one?" The old elven leader asked, stroking his beard. 

"Yes, Lord Alereez, it is I." The boy's blue cerulean eyes wanted nothing more than to look away, but he remained in his spot and smiled politely. 

"Where is the mark?" the old leader questioned, and Faylin gulped. Quickly, he grabbed the rim of the white garment, exposing the the side of his hip. The mark was something that all gaurdians bared, and each one was unique to each elf. His happened to he  in the shape of a Carateen Jasamine, a rare flower in Farenborne.

"I see." The King Alereez coughed, his face turning pink, while his son gave a wolfish grin. "You may let the garment down now."

"Yes, your highness." 

Clapping his hands together, the king alerted the guards at the door. "It is time," he yelled, "let us bring out the Beast!"


	2. The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> vanya—beautiful

Faylin watched in horror as they guards came, dragging a large man in enchanted chains. The guards looked him with pride, as if he was nothing but more than a prize they had won from a hunting match. Harshly, they threw him down on the ground, using their swords as stakes to set him into place so he could not move. The man screamed in agonizing pain, his chains burning his tanned skin into charcoal.

How could they be so cruel? 

"Ah, yes. What a powerful animal he is," the king commented, smirking at the scene that laid out in front of him. "And he will be all yours, my dear. You will be his rider."

As if instinct possessed Faylin to do so, he ran towards the man without a second thought, crouching down forwards, attempting to remove the chains himself. The chains were strong, they had even scorched the young elf. Whoever had enchanted them, knew very powerful, dark magic. The kind of magic that was used to cause havoc. It was forbidden.

"What are you doing!" The king demanded, and Faylin turner his head sharply, his eyes desperately looking into the old man's stale green ones.

"Can you not see he is pain? Let him be free!" Faylin pleaded, and the king laughed loudly, holding his protruding belly, trying to contain himself.

"But my dear, he is a dragon, and a fine one he is. Do you not see that if I let him go, he will burn down our kingdom? That is how powerful he is!"

"But—" Faylin wanted to say something to argue, but he remembered his position and stopped himself, and instead sweetly asked, "My lord, can we at least do something about the pain?"

The king hummed rolling his head side to side in thought, his lips pursed. "If he does not struggle, then he will not be in pain. He is just stubborn." The old man said, gesturing at the locked man.

Faylin turned his head, and the man finally ceased his writhing. The boy did not know if the poor man had passed out or simply die from his pain. Tentatively, he reached out his hand to touch the man's shoulder.

Ever so slightly, the man lifted his head, his glowing amber eyes meeting the elf's. He looked at him with distrust, hatred and another emotion that the boy could not distinguish. As quickly as he placed his hand on the man shoulder, he brought it back to the comfort of his side, squeezing it gently.

"Were you afraid I'd nip it?" The dragon's voice was low, a very deep baritone that rumbled out of his mouth like a purr. He then smiled, exposing his several serrated blades for teeth. "I would have. Consider yourself lucky." 

Faylin's heart was palpitating out of control, his face becoming more pale than usual. The king was right, this man, the man in front of him was a beast. A deadly beast that could have ripped his hand off with his teeth, but didn't. Faylin still had hope that the man was not a monster, despite the accusations of the others around him.

"Take the thing back to its cage!" The king ordered, pointing at the dragon. On cue, the guards lifted their swords from the ground, and grabbed a hold of the black chains, forcing the dragon out of the room. As they were leaving, the dragon hissed viciously at the prince, who was nothing but silent the whole time, and as usual the king laughed as if it were a joke.

He took a moment to compose himself.

"Now, do you not see, my little guardian? You are very lucky to have such a creature. We were very lucky to capture him, you know. He had just happen to be near one of our farms, feasting away on an old mare."

"Yes," Faylin forced himself to speak. "He will be a great asset to our kingdom." The king, Faylin had decided, was nothing more than a power hungry tyrant. 

What was his purpose again? Faylin honestly did not know. The man only looked like a baboon waiting for more food and power to be presented his way.

"Yes! In fact, my son was the one captured him," he added joyfully, and the prince smiled proudly, giving Faylin a smoldering look. 

So that is why the dragon hissed at him. 

"Oh godess, that is incredible. Your son will become a very accomplished king." He was being sarcastic—not that they knew—and the crowned prince graciously accepted the compliment.

"Thank you, vanya." Faylin bowed in response and the king winked at his blushing son, nudging his shoulder. 

Turning to the boy again, he cleared his throat. "You must be tired. Go rest, my little guardian."

"Thank you your majesties," the young elf replied, bowing for the last time before he left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> vanya—beautiful


	3. The Dungeon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carriers are beings that are known to be intersex.

The air was musty, the walls wet from the recent drown pour. Faylin held the torch far from his body as his other hand held the parsel close to his chest. He could not risk it. The parcel was the only way the dragon would speak to him. If he lost it, then his venture down here would only be in vain. 

Steadily, he went down the stairs, careful not to step on any cracks. It was the first time he had even heard of the dungeon's existence. When he was a child, they held public events for prisoners. The king had always told his people that after the event, the prisoners would be sent to labor camps to become good samaritans. And now, as an young adult, Faylin could see how much of a blatant lie it all was.

As he reached farther into the dungeon he could see strange contraptions inhabiting the place. Old, rusty torture devices were used in the place, some of which still had decaying corpse still attached to them. It was so sickening. Faylin had to hold his urge to vomit and cry all at once. The saddest part was, the corpses, those who still had not decayed completely, were all undeniably elves.

When he the stairs finally ended, Faylin held the torch high, and placed it on the holder, lighting up the desiccated prison. He cautiously approached the first cell, his eyes squinting to see any sign of the dragon. There was a figure, at the corner of the cell, his large back pressed against the wet, cement walls. 

"It is you, is it not?" Faylin asked, his voice echoing within the cell, and in response the body shifted, the man's chest heaving up and down. "I have brought you food. Horse meat," he clarified, his arm stretched out with the parcel intact. The man had risen, and it was for the first time Faylin understood how easily the dragon towered over the him. Lazily, he walked over towards the boy, his ponderous becoming louder the closer he came to him. 

"Please, do not bite me," Faylin pleaded, the parcel still in his hand. The dragon, roughly grabbed the meat from him, throwing it on the floor besides him.

Golden eyes stared at him, and the elf could not help but be mesmerized by them. "If I wish to bite you, I will. I do not keep promises with a kind that enslaves others," the dragon said, his voice gravely from sleep.

"I am not here to haze you. I want to help you." Faylin grasped the metal bars tightly, his eyes meeting with the dragon's amber ones. "Please, believe me."

"Where is your mark?" It had been the same question the king had asked him a day ago. He had not expected it but dutifully, he lifted the waist band of his garment and slid it down to show the man.

It was the same unknown emotion that gleaned in the dragon's eyes. The man forcefully grabbed Faylin by the hip, his jagged claws digging into the elf's delicate skin, causing it to bruise. "It hurts, please let go," he whimpered, the pain excruciating.

But the dragon only gripped harder, his sharp nails impaling the poor elf and then, suddenly bit him right on the mark, making his pale leg bleed. The "Why, why did you do that?" Faylin demanded as he held onto his leg, cleaning the blood off with his long shirt. 

"For a guardian, you are naïve. I approved of our bond, but do not fret, it will only be temporary," he scoffed, picking up the parcel from the ground, the blood from the meat seeping through the paper wrapper.

When he was born, everyone told him he was special, though they always failed explained how or why. Even now, he still did not understand the role of the guardian.

"I do not understand. How can our bond be temporary?" 

"I will make the witch undo what she's done to me. And when I'm done, I'll rip her throat out." The dragon did not even bother to open the package, instead he opened his mouth, devouring the whole thing within seconds.

"That was ten pounds of meat!" The man licked his lips, savoring the flavor of the meal.

"Not enough," the dragon replied, walking back to his corner. Faylin stood there in awe, the man's body completely blended with the shadows of the cell while his vivacious golden eyes stared back. The little elf gulped, still curious about the man's curses.

"Are you still in pain? I have some salve in my room—"

"Do not waste your pathetic medicinal herbs on me. It will do me no good. Now, leave me be, before I decided to make a snack out of one your pretty fingers." The elf backed up a few steps, frightened by the dragon's words. He knew he meant them. 

"Alright, " Faylin whispered cautiously, backing up against the walls of the stairs. "I'll leave you be, goodnight." 

But the dragon, as expected, made no effort to respond, he sat still in the corner of the cell eyeing the elf with his florescent eyes.

Faylin took a hold of another torch making his way up the dungeon's staircase. When he was at the top, he looked down one more time, then closed the steel doors, leaving the man alone in the murky darkness.


	4. Nightly Visits

"Is this still not enough?" Faylin asked, holding double the amount of horse meat he brought along with him. He set the parcels down on the cement floor, throwing them one by one into the cage. The man's body was still covered by the shadows, the only thing visible were his hands, clawing at the food and the exception of his fluorescent, amber eyes.

"No." The dragon's reply was a short rumble.

"Then, how much do you need?" The elf got closer to the bars, the tip of his nose sticking into the cell. 

"Thirty more pounds of that," the man mumbled, consuming the two packages within a matter of seconds, the stench of the horse's blood intensifying. 

"Um, alright—" he began, fumbling on his words. "I—"

There was an awkward silence between the two, and Faylin could not think of what he wanted to say. There were so many questions in his mind that he desperately yearned to ask the man, but he was unable to formulate them into words.

"Does that wretched king know you are here?" It was an abrupt inquiry, one that only exacerbated the clumsiness that the little elf felt.

"No–he does not," he responded, keeping his head down in embarrassment. 

"Lift your head," dragon's voice boomed, making the boy involuntary shudder. At once, the elf lifted his head, surprised by how quickly his body reacted to the man's demand. He was so surprised by his actions that he did not even notice how close the man was to him.

"What is your name?" The dragon asked, but it sounded more like a demand.

"Faylin," breathed out, his face flushing red, it was only now how handsome he realized the dragon was. "A-and yours?"

"Kalaun," the man answered gruffly. 

"That is a very nice name." Kalaun did not reply to the compliment, but instead stood there, staring at deeply into the elf's eyes. 

Faylin felt as if he was required to stay put, and admire the man's gorgeous features. It was apparent that he was hardened by years of combat, no doubt, with scars that littered on his angular face. His eyes were piercing, like serrated swords, tempting others to look into them only to be cut into two. The cold stares he gave intensified his masculinity. It was dark and brooding and Faylin had to confess that any woman would find him attractive regardless of his brute nature.

It was a complete contrast to the elf's appearance. Faylin felt inferior, wishing he could be as tall dark and handsome as the man in front of him. If he could be like Kalaun, then perhaps, he surmised, that others would respect him. But alas, the boy was  pale, dainty and had curvy figure. He had detested his hips since he was a teen. Yes, it was true that the boy had been a carrier, but it still made him feel unmatched to the rest of the boys his age. 

Carriers were not rare, but they were not common either. He had remembered well when others started to make comments about his 'hippy' appearance. Even his own father had made such a comment when he was fifteen moons.

The man's stomach growled, waking Faylin from his self loathing. Blinking a couple of times, he meekly smiled at man in front of him. "I'll get you more food."

                             -------------

When he went out to fetch the meat for the dragon, he had finally put his thoughts together. He knew what he needed to ask.

The man ate his meal once more, swallowing another twenty pounds of meat in one go. 

"Kalaun?" Faylin called out, disturbing the dragon's meal. "Could you by chance, tell me about the guardians?"

"No," the man retorted, "it should be something you already know."

"But—" Faylin went on to argue, "they do not tell me anything. I am confident that the other guardians are just as confused as I am and—"

"Enough!" The dragon yelled, slamming his hands against the old walls, cracking them. "Your people have already spilled your head with lies. It does not matter what I say about the guardians."

"You really do detest elves." Faylin did not mean for the comment to be voiced, and when he realized what he said, he clasped his hands over his mouth, ashamed. "I'm sorry," he muttered. And again, the dungeon filled was filled with an awkward silence. Faylin contemplated whether or not he should leave, and retreat to his room. The boy paced himself, biting his lower lip in distress, his eyes staring at the staircase.

"Show the king your mark," it was a soft tone the dragon used, much different than his usual, roughness, but nevertheless it was a command. "He will know what it means." 

Faylin nodded his head, and left disappointed. He did nothing but upset the dragon instead of answering questions like he hoped. It seemed like he would have to figure things out on his own.


	5. The King's Blessing

The air was crisp, signifying that spring had just begun. Faylin was outside his balcony, his tired shoulders slouched, leaning against the marble railing. He took a deep breath, enjoying the refreshing, cool scent of the season. 

His eyes looked up at the starry night sky. 

Although late, he could not sleep. Every time he lied down in his bed, his body would shift uncomfortably. There was something about Kalaun's words that haunted his mind.

What did he mean by 'he will understand?' he thought, his curiosity peaking. 

Gently taking a hold of the brim of his robe, Faylin lifted it, exposing the mark. Ever since the man had bit him, he refrained from looking down at his wound. He was afraid the dragon's bite would turn into a some ghastly, purplish bruise, but strangely enough, it was quite the opposite.

The teeth impressions somehow made a halo–like arrangement around the flower, enhancing its beauty. When the elf went to touch it, his fingers skidding across his smooth skin, it shimmered a bright golden hue; the same golden hue as the dragon's eyes.

Although weak, Faylin could feel the bond that he made with the man. Every time his hand touched the mark, he felt a slight electrical surge that went through his body. It didn't hurt per say, but it did tingle a bit, and it left him curious to as what all of this meant.

"Can not sleep, my puer?" His father asked, startling the young elf. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I had not seen you like this since your mera had died. What is wrong?"

"Abbas," he said, "do you think I am really the right one to be a guardian?" Faylin remained still, not even bothering to move. His eyes were set on the sky.

"It is fate," his father stated, his voice hopeful. He did not need to see him in order to know that older man was smiling, proud of his son.

"But, what if I do not want to be a guardian?" Faylin's voice was soft, a low mumbled. His father stayed silent for a moment, contemplating on his words. He was not sure how to answer his son's question.

"As I said, it is fate. The goddess has gifted you with amazing abilities, my puer."

"You know abbas, I spoke to the dragon." The man's eyes widened, surprised by the revelation.

"You have a dragon, already?" 

"Yes, and it seems he thinks very lowly of elves. But I can not blame him. I saw the way the king tied him to the ground. Did you know that they captured him?"

"I am sorry to hear that," the older man replied at a loss for words. 

"He approved of our bond two nights ago, but he told me that it would be only temporary. I do not know abbas, he refuses to speak of the guardians–"

"It will work out." His father turned the child around, staring in his eyes. "I believe in you."

"Thank you, abbas. If only I had the same confidence," Faylin sighed, smiling timidly. 

"Sleep, Faylin. You have to wake up early tomorrow, remember? The king requested you."

"Yes, you are right. I will," Faylin yawned, walking towards his bed. 

"Goodnight," the older elf said as he closed the door. 

"Night." 

\------------------

Faylin stared at himself in the mirror, displeased with how puffy his eyes were. He felt groggy from the lack of sleep. Getting three hours of sleep wasn't enough to function, and he knew it, but sadly he had duties to attend to. The king wanted him up bright and early for a breakfast with the royal family.

"Faex," the elf cursed under his breath, tying his long, icy blond hair into a high ponytail. Despite him tying it high, it still reached his lower back, dangling freely like a long rope.

He had never cut his hair, most elves never did before marriage, but he sometimes wondered what it would be like to be liberated from the weight of his mane.

He looked in the mirror one more time, his eyebrows shifting up. Grabbing a face towel from the rack, he lathered it in cold water, making it damp. Faylin lied down on his bed, placing the cool towel on his face, hoping the swelling from his eyes would cease.

The young elf wasn't even fully dressed when the servant appeared. 

"Do you not know how to knock?" Faylin admonished, covering himself in his sapphire silk robes.

"I am very sorry, seraseen," the servent apologized, bowing. "But it is urgent. The king demands you to be ready earlier than expected."

"Alright, thank you," he sighed, grabbing his clothes from the closet. The servent left without another word, and Faylin hastily put on his clothes. They weren't as nice as his ceremonial gown, but they were still formal attire.

When Faylin was in front of the dining room entrance, he groaned heavily before entering, not enthusiastic to meet the boorish King. He gave the wooden opening a few knocks, before one of the guards unlocked it, greeting the elf with a stern display. The man, clasped in nothing but armor used his jagged staff, pointing towards the direction of the guardian's seating.

He nodded to the guard, who in turn stood at his post, and took a seat, crossing his legs in a graceful manner. The rest of the table was empty, except for the seat across from him. Prince Pharom stared at  Faylin dreamily, his eyes smirking slyly as his elbows nearly placed themselves down on the table, his hands providing a comfy place to settle his chin.

The man clearly believed he was sex on legs, despite Faylin's disinterest. But the elf played along with his inane game, smiling endearingly every time they made eye contact.

"My father should be out any moment," the prince said, showing off his flawless pearly whites. "He's just—you know, doing kingly business," he added on, chuckling to himself.

"Yes, as expected." He forced a giggle out, in spite of being displeased, and the man nodded his head. His grey eyes never ceasing their intense stare on Faylin.

Stupid, absolutely stupid! Faylin screeched in his head, imagining himself pulling out chunks of his wavy locks. He demands I show up early? And for what? So he can be late? 

The sounds of raucous trumpets filled the air, the doors of the dining hall slamming open as the king made his appearance. 

"Who's hungry?" The old king announced, his voice echoing within the halls, hands raised flamboyantly in the air. 

"I am!" Faylin feigned excitement, his arm shooting up in the air like some prepubescent kid. 

The breakfast began without another moment to spare. Faylin chose his food with hesitation, making sure that none of the food that he was about to consume contained meat. He ate his food quickly and quietly, not wanting to waste more time.

The boy waited, watching as the royals munched down their food like a couple of slobs. When they were finally done, Faylin coughed, their attention focused on him.

"My lord, King Alereez, I must confess something to you." The boy's voice was not demanding, nor was it weak. It was simple statement, one that grasped the older man's curiosity.

"And what do you need to confess, my dear?" 

"I've been seeing the dragon," the young elf admitted, and the king pursed his lips together waiting for the boy to continue. "He told me to show you this." Faylin stood up, the rim of his gown exposed so the royals could see his bonded mark, fresh teeth intentions embroidering it.

The old king gave a wry smirk, applauding the guardian as if he did performed an amazing trick. "You have made him submit to you already. I am impressed."

Submit? What did he mean submit? Faylin thought, confused.

"Are you not upset that I visited him in the secret dungeons?" He made sure to drawl out the word secret, so the older man would understand the hint.

But instead he king gave out a chuckle. "I knew you would, puer."

"There is no use locking him up now, I suppose," the man continued on, grabbing a vine of grapes. 

"Alright," he replied, still nonplussed by the situation. 

"Come now, " the king stated, stroking his beard, "lets go to the dungeons."


	6. The Opened Cell

As Faylin, the king, and his entrusted guards made their passage down the foul dungeons, Faylin noticed that the torture machines were gone. They had been there nights ago, with littered flesh rotting away on them. But now in their place was nothing but the barren grounds, stone cobble to be precise, and the spot was freshly clean. 

The king was trying to hide his sullied secrets, but miserably failed doing so. Faylin knew the truth. He had seen it with his own eyes; he saw the cruelty that rested in the king's heart. 

The dragon, like before, hid in the shadows, his eyes piercing outwards to the man in front of him. The old man smirked wickedly in return, rubbing his hands in conniving amusement. He stood far, about four feet away from the dragon's cell, yet close enough to see that the dragon was peeved by his presence. He liked seeing such a mighty beast imprisoned. It made him feel as if he was the one in control of everything, and anything—that his fate was in the palm of his hands. 

"Bonded are you not, beast?" the king sang, and the man in the prison, gave a low, hostile growl. The elderly man pursed his lips in return, and his eyebrows lifted themselves in amusement. "I would not be so unkind, foul creature," he mocked. "Your fate lies with me." 

The dragon was tempted to throw his hand through the rusty bars and strangle the old geezer but he stayed put in his corner, but he could not because right before the king's arrival, they had drugged him. The drug was strong, but not strong enough to keep him completely incapacitated; he could still move, but they were lethargic movements. 

King Alereez began preaching, shouting nonsense at the dragon. "Isn't being a slave to an elf, wonderful?" He prolonged the last word of his comment, and his eyes widened in emphasis. "I mean, what else would a creature like you be doing?"

Faylin noticed that Kalaun's eyes seemed to grow brighter, but the color was slightly different. They were deeper, no longer amber, and instead ruby red. This was a sign that his would was beginning to become exacerbated. Faylin gripped at his clothing. He didn't know how long the the drug would last. He would surely snap out of his stupor soon. If he did kill the king, it would galvanize more problems than resolve them. 

Agitated, the elder grabbed one of the guard's staffs, slamming against the metallic bars. "Why won't you say anything, foul creature?" he screeched, nostrils flaring. It was like tantrum, and an awfully embarrassing one at that. The man was more than a hundred moons and he still acted as if he still suckled on his mera's milk.

"If I may, my lord," Faylin interrupted. He could not stand idly by waiting for something to happen. He gently rested a hand on the older man's shoulder, smiling once more." Taunting the beast will not give you anything. He is already imprisoned by you. He is under your rule. Please do not be so harsh with him."

"Harsh? My darling, I am not being so harsh! Merely stating the truth," the king justified.

"My lord, why are we even down here? What are your intentions?"

With the click of his heel, the old king turned himself towards Faylin. "He is yours. He will be at your side. That is the purpose of this little gathering."

"But.." Faylin could not help but gulp, his face quickly converting into that of distress. He did indeed feel bad for the man. It was cruel how fate had him here, locked up in his enemies fortitude, but in no way did he want him to be glued to him. He was afraid of the dragon, and easily, he could snap Faylin like a twig. He would do it willingly too without regret. 

"Do not worry. He cannot hurt you if you are bonded. It is one the many perks," the king comforted. "He has given himself to you. You are in control of him. You can bend him at your will. Whatever you say, he shall do."

Faylin nodded meekly at this.

There was a sharp, stringent sound that came from the cell; the guards began prying the rigid cell bars open. Five men stood there, lined up into place, heaving at the cage, and once it was fully opened, Kalaun sluggishly stood up. 

The king did not move, and the dragon knew that it would be in vain to try and attack him, but he was angry, filled with ire that could not be explained in mere words. The guards came to the king's protection, but his old wizened hand lifted itself up, stopping the men from doing so. 

His sharp claws were not fast, but they were only an inch away at slicing the old man's face wide and open. The king didn't even flinched at the attempted clawing, but instead smiled derisively and spoke nothing. 

This, only made the dragon more vexed. He reached out, another time, about to scratch his face, but a hand stopped him. It was the young elf. 

He stared at him with compelling doe eyes. Of course, he was forced to stop due to the bond's magic, but there was something about the blond elf's pure, pleading eyes that made him want to cease his killing as well. There was no malice that his eyes held; they were kind, and earnest. 

"Please, you will have your chance," the elf said, his soft voice reverberating in Kaulan's mind. "But not like this. I assure you that you will have your justice."

When Faylin shifted his hand away, he looked puzzled, and surprised by the new revelation. He shifted his head in the dragon's directions, but the man's face was blank. 

At least he is not angry, the elf thought. 

—————

Faylin was stuck, weakened and panicked in his state of exhaustion. The dragon was in his room, unbounded and free to walk. He was looking around, touching and smelling the various perfumes and oils on his makeup desk. 

After the whole incident in the dungeons, the king had explained nothing, and had and deserted the two to figure things out on their own; but after having nothing accomplished only mere grunts as responses, Faylin gave up and lead him to his room. 

"The shower is there," the elf stated, despite the dragon not regarding him. His finger pointed at the white wooden door adjacent to his bed. "I have asked the maids to bring you fine clothes instead of the tattered ones you wear now."

Kalaun gave a low, mumble that sounded similar to that of a large growling dog. He picked puny vile made of Cantino Crystal, and inhaled it eagerly. The scent was an amalgam of Dulciz mango, and fresh mintes, and Flareberries. He enjoyed this scent the most. 

"I made that," Faylin blurted out, instantly regretting it because he had caught the man's full attention. "I–I collect herbs and such and make a concoction. If you would like, you make keep it—" He kept rambling on and on, suddenly feeling his heart swell with lumbering anxiety. 

"It smells like you," he stated, his deep voice flat and dulled of emotion. 

"Yes, well—I suppose it does." He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, but he didn't dare ask. 

The dragon gave him one last hard, long stare before moving away from the counter, and into bathroom.

Faylin shuddered when the man passed by him, and hurriedly exited the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary of terms: 
> 
> mera–mother  
> abbas–father  
> puer–child


End file.
